Crossed Bones (24 page)

"I'm a grown woman. I can do whatever I want." I spoke boldly, but even the Delaney womb was a little uncomfortable. The truth was, I did feel guilty. And the demon regret that Scott had evoked was nibbling my toes. How in the world was I going to face Scott the next time I saw him? He was my client.

"You sure can do whatever you want, but you're gonna have to live with the consequences. And what if those consequences need bottles and diapers?"

The bathtub was deep, and the water covered everything but my neck and head. Still, I felt vulnerable. "Jitty, there are no consequences. So I slept with Scott Hampton. I didn't violate any laws. Besides, I thought a baby was all you wanted. When I slept with Hamilton Garrett V, you were bitterly disappointed when I didn't get pregnant." Even to myself I sounded pathetic.

"Scott Hampton ain't Hamilton Garrett V, and you know it. Besides, you stomped all over your ethics."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't think it's such a good idea to sleep with a client. Especially not a racist murderer."

There it was, the little thorn that was festering deep inside my heart. Jitty had found it and managed to wiggle it in a little deeper.

"Scott isn't a racist. And he isn't a murderer."

"We've been over this before. But let me ask you just one question: What are you gonna do if it turns out he's both of those things?"

It was a good question, and one that I didn't want to contemplate. I had made my share of social mistakes. I'd slept with men for various reasons that seemed good at the time but turned out to be not so good. But if he was guilty of killing Ivory, Scott Hampton would be the biggest mistake of my ignoble romantic career.

"He isn't like that." My heart and my womb surely wouldn't lead me that far astray.

Jitty stood up. "I almost called in my backup singers, but I thought I could handle this alone." She put a hand on one hip and held the other out, palm facing me. "Stop, in the name of love, before you get yourself pregnant with a love child that's half-Yankee and half-racist."

She was gone and I was left sitting in a tub of cold, dirty water. "You don't even look like Diana Ross!" I yelled after her.

20

Standing naked in front of my closet.
I
had to
admit that Jitty had done her work. She'd planted the seed of fear regarding a love child. I tried to convince myself that the tiny bulge of my abdomen had been there for the last three years, but I couldn't be certain. Perhaps a child was already incubating!

Dang Jitty! If it had been any other man except Scott Hampton, Jitty would have been ecstatic.

Then again, maybe not. She was in a new mode. Gone were the advice for the lovelorn from
Cosmopolitan,
the Stephen Stills lyrics of "Love the One You're With," and the find-you-a-man-in-cyberspace lectures. She was operating on a new set of rules, and they reeked of that transitional era, the sixties. Jitty had regressed! Again!

Sinking deeper into de-spair with every passing second, I snatched a pair of white slacks and a chartreuse sleeveless sweater out of the closet and onto my body. My mother's peridot-and-amethyst earrings were perfect, even though wearing my hair on my shoulders slightly concealed the earrings. I'd perfected the humidity "do." My hair was gelled and allowed to dry in natural curls. Then it was hair-sprayed to the consistency of sheet metal. If I didn't mess with it, it wouldn't frizz.

I had to get out of Dahlia House. And I had to get out of my present mood before I talked to Bridge. I had legitimate questions to ask him, and I could not go over there beating myself on the back with a cat-o'-nine-tails.

I left Sweetie asleep in the kitchen, one paw on her food bowl. Reveler was grazing happily in the back pasture, and I was wearing the color, according to Margaret Mitchell, that blondes dare not wear. It was time to gird my loins and get busy.

Bridge opened the front door before I could ring the bell. In less than a second I was folded into his arms and he was kissing me.

"Sarah Booth, I've been thinking about you all weekend." He was strong and he gave me an extra little squeeze. "They were very pleasant thoughts. And here you are."

In a matter of hours, I'd slipped from the exemplary conduct of an earnest investigator to the ditch of compromised ethics. I'd slept with the primary suspect, and I was kissing a potentially important player. "Bridge," I said, pushing against his chest.

My slightest hint of discomfort was enough. His arms dropped and he stepped back from me. "Forgive me, Sarah Booth. I didn't mean to presume. I was simply delighted to see you."

His feelings were hurt. Damn! And he didn't even know the half of it. I put my hand on his arm. "I'm here on official business, Bridge."

"Oh." He stepped back from the door to allow me to enter. "Thank goodness. I was afraid you'd fallen in love with someone else and had come to tell me."

He'd turned away to close the door and didn't see me cringe. I hadn't exactly fallen in love, I'd jumped in the sack. The quicker I got to this, the better. "Bridge, why did you make Scott's bail?"

If I'd hoped to surprise him, it backfired. He gave a fine imitation of the Cheshire cat. "Scott is free to play at the club now. He and Ida Mae can keep it open."

Was it possible a man could be so generous? It was my job to be skeptical. "Are you going to buy the club?" Keeping it up and running would only be good business for him if he bought it.

"Ida Mae never responded to the offer you made in my behalf. I know it must be hard for her to consider selling the club, and I didn't want to pressure her right now."

"I hear Emanuel's going to inherit the club."

A frown crossed his face. "That might complicate things. He won't keep it open, and he certainly won't let Scott continue to play, no matter what Scott's contract says. I wonder ..." His voice trailed off.

"Wonder what?"

The bemused look on his face was replaced with a smile. "Just a business detail, Sarah Booth. Contractual obligations."

"What kind of obligations?"

"It's Sunday afternoon. Let me at least make you comfortable and fix you a drink before we talk business." He led the way into the front parlor.

There wasn't a remnant of our Bedouin evening left. The front parlor now contained a leather sofa and club chairs. I took a seat in a chair, wisely avoiding the pitfalls of potential couch contact, and waited for Bridge to return with the drinks.

Realizing that I might have melted a little in the hot car, I slipped into the bathroom to check my makeup. Despite Bridge's hug and kiss, my hair remained a perfect helmet. I pulled a comb from my purse and worked on making it look a little more natural, arranging the lacquered curls on my shoulders. Dang the humidity! I hated summer. I pinked up my lipstick and was back in my chair before Bridge brought the drinks.

"Jack Daniel's, I believe, is your preferred drink," he said, handing me a crystal highball glass.

My heart gave a little contraction. He'd taken the time to find out what I liked to drink. "Tinkie has been talking again."

Bridge only laughed. "You'd be surprised at the people who pay close attention to your habits, Sarah Booth."

He meant it as a compliment, but it struck me as a little chilling. I moved right on to the business matter he'd dodged at the door. "What contractual obligations were you referring to?"

"Scott is obligated to perform at Playin' the Bones for two years. If the club is closed, I'm sure that invalidates his contract."

"If Emanuel finds out about that, he may keep the club open just for spite," I pointed out.

"Very true. But Scott may not be obligated if the club is sold. Contracts are very tricky. The wording might allow him to leave even if Emanuel keeps it open."

"Because Ivory isn't running the club." I got his point, and it was an interesting one. "I'd like to see that contract."

"That makes two of us."

Bridge tilted his head as he looked at me. "You are a lovely creature, Sarah Booth."

Compliments are like cocaine--they make a girl feel like a million dollars, even when they aren't justified. "Thank you, Bridge."

"You have a special glow about you today. And there's just the hint of... satisfaction in the corners of your mouth. You're a very sexy lady, Sarah Booth."

I couldn't afford to mainline pretty words from Bridge. I was working a case, and I had to keep that foremost in mind. "If you buy the club, would you try to hold Scott to his contract?"

"I hadn't really thought about that," Bridge said, "but I'd hope he'd agree to play there. Of course, the club isn't worth much without Scott. He's the draw."

Bridge was a businessman, and a good one. No matter how generous his offer to buy the club, he intended to turn a profit on it.

"Would making Scott's bail have anything to do with that?" I asked.

Bridge shrugged, turning down a corner of his mouth. "I thought it might not hurt if he felt a small obligation toward me." He waited for my response. When I didn't say anything, he leaned forward and put his hand on my knee. "Sarah Booth, do you suppose Ida Mae would allow me to walk through the club? I need to get an idea of what's there and what it's worth. I want to make a fair offer."

"I'm sure Oscar could make the financial paperwork available to you."

"He has. But there's nothing like a physical inspection to answer a lot of questions. At least in my mind. I want a contractor to take a look at the plumbing, the wiring, all of that. See what it would take to add more bathrooms, maybe put in a kitchen."

"When would you like to go?"

He lifted his elegant hands. "This evening would be fine. If they plan to reopen the club, it might be best if I could get this done right away."

"You can find a contractor on a Sunday evening?" This was an amazing trick. I was impressed.

He dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'm willing to pay triple overtime. I think I can turn someone up. And if I can't, I know a bit about such things. I wasn't always an investor."

When he looked back up at me, there was humor in his eyes. I'd underestimated him again. He was merely letting me know that he was a man's man, capable of building and other such manly activities. I had to smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Please do, Sarah Booth."

I got a pen and scrap of paper from my purse and wrote down Ida Mae's number. I'd gotten the answer to my burning question about why Bridge made Scott's bond.

And I was relieved to discover that Bridge had no hidden agenda--he wanted to help Ida Mae and keep the club open. It was good business if he bought the club. "I'd call Ida Mae first. Emanuel may not be as agreeable. I'm not certain how property is transferred in a will." When my parents were killed in a car accident, I'd been a child. My Aunt LouLane took care of all the details. Dahlia House had simply become mine.

"If Ida Mae gives me permission to have the club inspected, I think that's all I need right now."

I stood up. "Thanks for the drink." In truth, I was disappointed--and a bit relieved--that Bridge hadn't asked me to dinner or for a future date. His words were charming, but he was all talk. It was just as well. I had my hands full.

He walked me to the door, and as I was leaving, he put a hand on my shoulder. "I'll call you, Sarah Booth."

I smiled. "Good evening, Bridge."

The car was hot as Hades, but I got in and drove away. By the time I got to the end of the driveway, sweat from the hot leather seats had soaked my back.

I had half an hour to kill before I was to meet Robert Pennington McBruce at The Club for drinks, and I'd need every second of it to cool off.

On Sundays when I was a little girl, my parents and I would drive to the Sugar Shack and get ice cream cones. It was a Delaney tradition that I'd deliberately avoided since my return to Zinnia. I didn't need the ice cream calories, but the memory was comforting, and I needed chocolate. I headed toward
Main Street
and mocha chocolate fudge--a bolus of caffeine-laced chocolate.

On the way, I passed Millie's. Two large Harleys were parked in the asphalt lot. The hog owners appeared to be the only customers, and I had a tingle of concern. Millie could handle herself, but if Spider and Ray-Ban were back on the scene, it could only mean trouble for Scott.

I canceled my plans for ice cream and pulled into the cafe. Sure enough, I saw the two men sitting at the counter. Millie stood behind it with her hands on her hips and aggravation on her face.

The bell over the door jangled as I walked in and both men turned my way, their faces lighting with grins. "Well, if it isn't National Velvet," Spider said, his grin widening. "Although I think the girl in the movie rode around on her horse. Seems to me you've been riding something else. By the way, nice hairdo. Is it real?"

I fought the flush that wanted to creep into my face. I don't know how successful I was, but I did see Millie flash me a curious look, and it wasn't about my hair. I decided to take the high ground and ignore the innuendo.

"Velvet Brown is the character in the movie
National Velvet.
The word 'national' comes from a prize she won-- it is not her first name. Seems to me you don't have any of your facts straight." It was weak, but it was the best I could do. The two bikers had caught me flat-footed. How did they know I'd ridden Reveler over to see Scott?